


Sometimes the best that we can do is to start over

by Cirilla9



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Dubious Morality, False Accusations, HYDRA Trash Party, Interrogation, M/M, Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Terrorism, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Canon divergence in which Rumlow lives. (Because insane characters have great potential.) Otherwise follow loosely the action of Civil War.





	1. Chapter 1

Rumlow took off his mask. He was on his knees, defeated, half of his face covered with burn scar but he still managed to smirk just to irk Captain America.

“I think it look pretty good, all things considered.”

“Who's your buyer?” required Rogers, ignoring the other’s man nonsense.

"You know, he remembered you,” said Rumlow as if he wasn’t asked a question. “Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.”

Steve’s mind clouded. Suddenly, the mission and gathering information about the new possible treat weren’t the most important thing.

“What did you say?” he asked faintly.

Rumlow’s grin widened, seeing his strategy is working.

“He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it,” Brock watched Rogers’ face crumple with every next, gleefully delivered word. “Till they put his brain back in the blender.”

Steve’s fist connected with his captive’s jaw. He stroke again to stop the man from saying anything more. He hit Rumlow again and again to sweep that maddening smile off his burned face. The blow landed after the blow on his opponent. He didn’t care the man didn’t have the strength to fight back anymore. He kept punching him till his face was bloody mess, one big bruise instead of that grinning expression. He didn’t care if he kills the bastard, the rage obscured any sensible thought.

He felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. He stilled his arm raised for another punch.

“Steve, that’s enough. Let him go,” he heard Natasha’s voice.

“He deserved that,” gritted Steve through clenched teeth. His fist was still aimed at Rumlow’s face. With the second hand twisted in Rumlow’s collar he kept the man up on his knees. Former STRIKE team leader looked like he didn’t have the strength to kneel upright by himself but he still looked at Steve with one eye that wasn’t swollen by the hit and Steve could swear he saw sneer in his gaze.

“Yes, he did, but let him be put on the trial first,” said Natasha not letting go of his shoulder. “He would be punished. Don’t dirty your hands with murdering him. You are better than that. He’s not worth it.”

Steve let out a breath and slowly lowered his hand. His muscles were still tensed, fist clenched. Then he stepped aside, practically throwing Brock away, turning his back on him so wouldn’t see his face.

Rumlow fell to the ground, then raised himself a little on his forearms spitting the blood out of his mouth. Natasha was on him immediately, handcuffing him and checking for eventual weapon he still could wear.

  


* * *

  


John Cereus, a successful forensic psychologist, entered the room. The men gathered there fell silent and eyed him with haughty demeanour.

“Seems like you aren’t going anywhere with it,” said Everett. “All you’ve got is his name and it isn’t even a real one.”

“With all due respect, I must disagree,” protested John. “A name is a very important part. It’s very good for the beginning, gentlemen. A name gives one the sense of identity. It’s a sign he considers himself a human being, not an asset anymore-“

“I don’t care about his sense of identity,” interrupted him Everett. “I need a testimony.”

“He introduced himself, made the first step,” John tried to continue. “Surely in a few weeks, after more sessions-“

“Few weeks!” this time Colonel Ross spoke in. “He is a dangerous criminal. We need to know if he worked alone in Vienna and we need to know it fast. Just get it out of him, doctor.”

“The haste is highly unrecommended, considering the state of his mind. It can make more harm than good.”

“World’s security is more important matter than a terrorist’s mind!”

“Um, sir?” spoke up the young man standing next to Everett. He was so quiet, John only now noticed him. The man was surrounded by papers, documents almost falling off his hands, probably some shadow counselor of Ross.  “I have an idea,” he said hesitantly.

“Well? Spit it out,” urged him Everett.

“Perhaps we could use our other prisoner to interrogate Barnes? It seems they’d worked together with Brock Rumlow before and the man is called his ‘handler’ so I thought he may be able to get the information from him…”

“You know, that’s not so bad idea,” said Everett and his assistant’s face lit up at the praise. “Uncle*, what do you think?”

“Let’s give it a try. It can’t hurt,” decided Thaddeus Ross.

“No, I must protest!” John chimed in because there was no way he would allow them to ruin his work just like that. “Mr. Barnes suffered some serious trauma from the hands of HYDRA and we don’t know what exactly this agent did to him. What if he remembers some torture? He would not trust us if we hand him to one of his former abusers. Just let me speak with him tomorrow, we’ll certainly make some progress.”

But none of them was listening to him, they all already preparing to leave.

“We don’t have the time for your methods, Mr. Cereus,” said Colonel Ross before leaving the room with the rest of the people.

  


* * *

  


Brock laid down on a cot in his cell staring up at the ceiling, when they came in. Oh, high time to start the interrogations.

“We have a task for you,” said some guy in a suit.

Brock didn’t even bother to stand up or look at them.

“You want me to say something about HYDRA? You’re wasting your time. I’ll never betray them.”

 “Actually, we want _you_ to interrogate someone.”

That taken Brock by surprise. Enough to make him sit up. He saw Colonel Ross himself and a few other guys he didn’t know staring expectantly at him.

“Did I misheard or are you actually offering me a job?” he snickered. “Are you lacking employees so much? Or you don’t want them to soil their hands with the dirty work?”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s a one-time proposition. James Buchanan Barnes. Are you familiar with the name?”

Brock stopped grinning. Winter was here? That changed a lot of things, opened up new possibilities.

“Oh, you’ve got a problem with _him._ Now I understand why you’d come to me. Good choice. Only, why on earth would you think I’d be interested in helping you?”

He watched them carefully.

“Witness protection program,” said Everett with poker face after a moment too long pause. Colonel Ross threw him a surprised look before collecting himself into an unreadable politician again. It lasted only split second but it was enough for Brock to call their bluff.

“Ok, take me to him.”

  


* * *

  


They led him through the corridors, few floores down by elevator. He tried to memorize the layout of the exits. They stopped by the heavy metal doors.

“He’s in there,” he was informed by one of them.

“What do you want to know?”

“If there was someone behind his attack on UN congress in Vienna. And if yes, who was it. Can you take it out of him?”

“Sure thing. But I need to be alone with him. And switch off the monitoring.”

“That’s not gonna happen. I don’t trust you that much,” said Everett.

Brock decided he really didn’t like this guy. Still, it was worth a try. Would make things easier.

“Rogers’s probably somewhere in the building, am I right? He’s a little oversensitive when it comes to Barnes. I don’t want him to take his anger out on me again,” said Rumlow gesturing toward his bruised, burned face.

“I’ll make sure Captain doesn’t watch this,” assured him Everett. “You can do everything, you have a free hand. Just don’t kill him till you got the information we need.”

“And then I’m your protected witness?”

“You are.”

The doors opened and Brock walked in the room followed by a single armed guy. Winter was in another cage, small, made of glass. He was strapped to the chair with more constrictions than the HYDRA used on him.

The metal door closed. Brock glanced over his shoulder. The armed agent stood near them.  Brock turned to the prisoner again. Winter watched him sharply but there wasn’t recognition in his eyes.

“You remember me, Winter?” started Brock conversationally. The Asset didn’t answer. His brows creased slightly in confusion.

“Looks like your new friends don’t treat you any better than the old ones, do they?” continued Brock pacing in front of the glass cage, taking in how strong the ties on the Asset were. “Maybe they just aren’t as good as they claim to be.” Brock walked closer to the watchman, seemingly talking to the prisoner. “They say one thing-” he lunged at the agent and wrenched his gun, knocking him unconscious by hitting his temple with the butt of rifle before the man managed to react. “-and do the other.”

Rumlow blocked the door from inside on a control panel and shoot a series into the monitoring cameras.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Winter. He sounded agitated. Brock looked at him, he was tugging at the restraints.

There were shouts from behind the door. The agents were trying to get inside, they hadn’t have much time.

“Rescuing you,” said Brock, trying to figure out how to open the Asset’s cage, sweeping  quickly through the controls on the small table before him.

“Who said I need a rescue?”

“Looks to me like you need one desperately.” He finally found a good sequence of buttons and the constrictions from the chair gave way. Winter massaged his flesh wrist but didn’t get up. “C’mon, you think they gonna give you a just trial? Look around you! They judged you already. They will never forgive you what you did for so many years. Even your Steve can’t protect you.” Rumlow searched to open the glass walls that separated him from HYDRA’s best weapon, his chance of escape.

“Look, it’ll be easier if you’d just smash the glass with that metal arm of yours.” Brock gave up trying to open the glass can through control panel and came closer to examine if the cage had a manual opening.

Winter still sat in the chair, he didn’t move one bit to get out. It was infuriating. “Maybe it’s better when I’m locked,” he said. “For everyone. I- cannot control myself all the time.”

“Stop whining, we don’t have the time for your safe-pity right now!” Really, in this moment Rumlow would prefer there was still programming in the Asset. He was easier to control then.

The shouts behind the door grew in strength, then the rhythmical bangs started. Great, they’ll force the doors soon. Fuck it, Rumlow shot the series from the rifle straight at the glass and Winter raised his metal arm to cover himself on reflex. So he wanted to live. The glass didn’t broke but it was covered in countless gunshots.

“Help me, damn it! You want to control yourself? To remember what’s been done to you? I’ll give you the key for those answers, just get us out of here!”

At that finally the super-soldier got up. “How?” he asked leaning on the glass.

“I know some places, all right?! Where HYDRA kept you before. I know where you were trained by the Russians. Get me out of here and I’ll show you them.”

The glass broke under the pressure of metal arm, spilling in countless pieces on the floor. Rumlow jumped aside from the soldier’s way slightly alarmed but the Asset didn’t seem hostile toward him.

“Okay,” he said simply and stood motionless waiting for what will come through the door. This was more familiar to Brock.

Rumlow quickly tore the bulletproof vest from the unconscious watchman and pulled it on himself just in time. The door gave way and the swarm of armed to the teeth agents flew inside. Brock shoot the nearest guy in the head.

Winter took care of the other two, kicking one so hard he landed few feet away, crashing into the wall; strangling the other with his metal arm. As he rose the man in the air, Brock could see his frightened eyes behind the balaclava and hear his labored breath while his legs kicked futilely above the ground. This was what Brock had remembered from the actions for HYDRA.

The Asset snatched his victim’s rifle away and threw him down, hard. Brock shoot him for good measure. Winter glanced around his shoulder, his eyes burning in anger instead of being the usual two indifferent blue orbs Brock was used to.

“Don’t kill them,” Winter hissed, hitting another agent that rushed in with his metal fist.

Brock ignored him, shooting series at the running soldiers.

“Hey!”

“This is either me or them,” he shouted back at the Asset. “I don’t intend to let myself be killed. And as you need my help, help me stay alive now.”

Winter clenched his jaw but did not speak to him again and Brock preferred it that way. The Asset should be silent during the task, complete the mission, eliminate the target. Just like the perfect weapon that he was.

The flow of agents stopped after a while. Brock looked at the both sides of the corridor behind the broken doors. It was empty. For now, he knew they didn’t have much time. He snatched two rifles from the bodies scattered on the ground, threw away his empty weapon.

“C’mon!” he called to his accomplice and dashed toward the door he saw at the end of one way. Winter outrun him in a second. He took care of the locked doors that didn’t last too long under the assault of the metal arm swung with superhuman strength.

The corridor behind them ended with the stairs. Good, they should got up. 

Brock cursed as more antiterrorists run down the stairs. He ducked behind Winter’s back, grateful for his metal arm, working as a shield. Together they made their way through the corridor, through the shoots and screams of injured people.

When they finally emerged, leaving wounded and dead behind, the hall opened around them. One look told Rumlow the agents took more shielded positions here, he saw them peeking from behind pillars, standing at the upper gallery. All had their guns aimed at them.

“Seize them!” came the order.

A group of black-clad people run their way, and they both fell in combat stance easily. Just before them the antiterrorists parted and Brock saw the flash of red hair before the supple body threw itself at Winter.

Brock was too engaged in the struggle with the remaining agents to pay much attention to the other fight but he was silently glad the Black Widow didn’t charge at him, as he noticed her trying to strangle Winter with her tights, sitting at his shoulders.

Rumlow could defeat the normal human fighters, especially - he thought, wedging a knife taken from his opponent into its previous owner’s neck from behind – as his enemies fought fair, and didn’t try to kill him to that. He could probably take these recruits down, even without dirty movements, but this way it was quicker. And more effective. He didn’t understand why some people restrained themselves with fight rules which led to their end if they met someone who fought without any barriers. Fight rules were pointless by definition. A fight was a chaos. The only things that mattered were strength, skills and stamina. Brock had them all, trained to perfection during his years in HYDRA.

He just shoot his last opponent and glanced at Winter in time to see him crashing Widow to the metal table. The force of the blow damaged furniture and send the Russian to the floor, trapping her momentarily. Brock almost rolled his eyes. If Winter was going to fight like this, they’d better hurry up or else the defeated but not dead yet opponents will raise and face them again.

He looked around, looking for a way out and saw a helicopter landed behind the window high above. He was about to go this way when there was a blast of energy that flew before him and hit Winter. The force of it pushed him behind and, dazed, he watched from the ground as Tony Stark advanced on Winter. What the man was doing? He was only in his business suit, not the armor. And from where the blast came?

Only when Winter swung at him with his metal arm and Stark stopped it with his own hand, Brock noticed the red gauntlet. Still, it was a grievous mistake, the serum enhanced strength was to be reckoned with. Brock smirked as Winter just hit Stark in the face with his right hand and the billionaire landed unconscious few feet apart.

Then some black man in a catwoman suit jumped gracefully in front of Winter. Brock didn’t recognize him, but judging by the ridiculous costume he was a new addition to the Avengers, so the former HYDRA member stayed on the ground. Despite the man’s feline movements and metal claws tearing the plaster on the walls, Winter managed to threw him down the stairs they had come from.

He glanced around and Brock stood up, going to him.

“Don’t let them get out! Fire!” Brock heard and ducked automatically, even before rifle series sounded. As he straightened, and Winter put his metal arm down, Brock noticed it wasn’t even necessary as the ammunition hit the ceiling. Next to the antiterrorist who had shot stood Rogers, pushing his gun off the target.

“No! Don’t shoot!” Captain America yelled at the men around and they hesitated. “I can stop them.”

Brock didn’t know whether to rejoice that the man prevented them from being killed or to curse because that one man could make Winter change his mind about escaping. Rogers jumped down the balustrade, one floor below and landed with a roll to diminish the force of the impact. He got to his feet swiftly.

“Bucky-“ he started but Winter luckily fell into a fighting stance.

Rogers kept coming closer though, slowly, approaching Winter as one would a frightened animal.

“Bucky, don’t do this,” he said. “You don’t have to listen to him anymore.”

Brock scoffed. Typical. Captain America would blame anyone but his childhood pal.

Instead of answering, Winter kicked out with his leg. Rogers, not expecting this, doubled over and fell back a short distance. He was upright and fighting in a moment though. It was no use to try come between Winter and Rogers fighting. Even if he managed to shoot Captain America somehow without harming Winter irreparably, there was very slight chance Winter would help him after that. More probably kill him. So Brock moved out of their range, looking around to see if the other Avengers were on their feet again.

Some stupid kid that wanted to prove himself, run his way with a plastic baton. Brock stepped out of his way, snatching his weapon as he passed by and hit him in the back of his head. He had to repeat his movement to send the other man unconscious. What a pathetic work tools. If they had HYDRA’s Taser Rods, one strike would be more than enough.

Brock looked at Winter who still fought with Rogers.

“Hurry up!” he yelled, running toward the stairs. If the guys were going to fight like this, without hurting each other, they won’t ever finish that. And soon the other Avengers will join their captain and Brock will lose his only chance of escaping.

Finally Winter, maybe sobered by his shout, seemed to gain some advantage. He knocked Rogers down with his metal arm which stunned Captain America for some time.

Just when Rumlow reached the top of the stairs, when he saw the helicopter just behind the glass wall, the panther man appeared before him. Brock swore, shooting at him but of course his absurd suit turned out to be bulletproof. This was exactly what happened when one didn’t finish off his enemies properly.

The panther swung at him with his clawed hand and Rumlow blocked it with his baton. The rod broke under the force of the hit. Brock stepped back and Winter rushed past him, throwing himself onto the panther.

Wasting no time, Brock sent a rifle series into the glass wall which splashed in myriad sharp pieces. Raising his hand to protect the eyes from falling shards, he run to the HLP.

Behind he heard shouts and people chasing him. He didn’t even look back, focusing fully on destroying the helicopter’s door blockade. The lock gave up just as someone reached him. He whirled around but saw only the tousled hair and blue eyes of the Asset.

“Get in,” gritted Winter.

Brock yanked the doors open and threw himself inside, on the passenger seat, making place for the companion of his escape, for his best insurance for the nearest future.

They took up in the air just when Rogers darted onto the landing pad. Brock almost laughed at his too late arrival when he felt the helicopter jerk to the side.

“What the-”  he started, then saw Rogers hanging from the skids, pulling the machine down. Brock reloaded his rifle.

Winter shot him a warning glance, tearing his gaze from Rogers’ for a second.

“So what do you want to do?! We have to get rid of him!”

Brock saw how Winter’s jaw clenched and his gaze became determined and the next moment he turned the helicopter so the front hit Rogers in the chest. Captain America fell back and Winter pulled at the joystick violently, bringing helicopter up before it could make any harm to his precious Avenger.

In other circumstances Brock would point out all the weaknesses of Winter’s new ‘knock down but not kill’ strategy but right now he only laughed. They did it. He was free, he thought gleefully, looking down at the diminishing figure of Steve Rogers staring after them and Black Widow who joined him on the platform below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * well, they have the same last name. I took some liberties and made them relatives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t wrote this for ages but I saw the Civil War lately and the inspiration came. Here is another chapter, Bucky’s POV this time.

The fire in the old forgotten bunker might not have been the best idea but there were no windows someone could see the light through and aside from the light the electronic devices could provide also, it gave warmth.

The helicopter had been hidden in the old empty hangar above.

They both sat near the bonfire, Rumlow extending his hands to the flames, Bucky a little further to the side, watching the other man warily. For the most part Hydra agent ignored him, staring into the fire, his profile to Bucky and from this angle, with the light and shadow licking his face in turns, he looked almost like his old self. Almost handsome. Like there were no scars on his face, no burns.

Rumlow looked up and Bucky avoided his gaze quickly. The silence returned.

They must have looked like two junkies, homeless, worn out, damaged. Only one step lower from such dregs, thought Bucky darkly; the addicts only hurt themselves while they wrought misery at others.

“I see you're just as much of a talk comrade as you were when with us, Winter.” Rumlow’s drawl cut in his thoughts.

“You’re not the one I want to talk with,” barked Bucky.

“Ow,” now Rumlow’s voice was mocking hurt, “you wound my feelings.”

Bucky didn’t want to play in the other’s games so he pressed what was important. “You said we’re gonna find solution how to… control me.”

“Oh yeah,” Rumlow chuckled lowly, “there is a simple instruction of your use.”

Since they’ve escaped, everything was funny for him. He acted and talked like everything was his personal joke. At Bucky’s expense. A joke that Bucky didn’t understand. Like there was something Rumlow knew about him and found it amusing while Bucky had no idea what it was. Or, what’s worse, didn’t remember.

But then, Rumlow at least talked to him and not in totally objective manner. His voice wasn’t devoid of any emotions. He talked like one could address a favorite gun.

“Where is it?” asked Bucky quietly about the mentioned manual.

“In some Hydra place, one of many. Somewhere in Russia.”

“How do you know which?”

“I don’t. I have a few suspicions. We’ll check them one by one.”

Bucky didn’t like it but that was the best he got in two years of mostly hiding and minor personal search.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But why aren’t we going there? Why’d we stop? It’s pointless.”

“You know, I preferred you as Winter Soldier. You didn’t question any order then. But sating your newly acquired curiosity, you may be a super soldier going 24/7 without a break but I need some rest. I’m going to sleep, night.”

With that, Rumlow rolled over near the still burning fire, his less scary cheek visible. Bucky watched this with a degree of skepticism.

“And you’re going to trust me just like that? You don’t fear I’ll kill you in your sleep?”

“You need me,” said Rumlow with his eyes already closed. “So be a good soldier and keep watch.”

Bucky gritted his teeth at being addressed like a dog, suddenly feeling an urge to hit Rumlow. But violence would not solve anything. Much as he hated that, he needed his forced ally. Rumlow wasn’t  a key factor in dealing with Bucky’s past but he was a thread that could lead to that key.

The man seemed disquietingly familiar as Bucky looked at his laying form. Bucky knew his name from the acts, knew from the papers that Rumlow was an important field agent of Hydra, a leader of a STRIKE team. Bucky thought he may even remember him from some missions but the images from them, different than victim’s faces, blurred together. Screams and facial expressions of those he had killed were burnt in his memory but Hydra agents, always wearing black, often masked, often changing during years of service – they were indistinguishable.

Yet with Rumlow, Bucky had a feeling it was something different, something more that always escaped his consciousness just as he thought he was about to discover it. He had an impression too, it involved something unpleasant as he felt edgy every time the other man fixed him with his dark eyes.

Bucky turned around suddenly as his enhanced hearing picked up something. There was no move, however, in the darkness where the fire light didn’t reach. He got up anyway, heading to check on the machine. The helicopter was the best mean of transportation they could have, allowing to fly under the radar range, much faster and far less limited than a car.

The way up was empty, the helicopter seemed untouched at the first look. Bucky didn’t dare to alight the room in any mean but he went closer to the flying machine to carry out a better examination.

He didn’t hear him, the creature was even more silent than he was during actions. It moved like a feline beast, without any sound, without one heard breath.

One moment Bucky stood before seemingly desolated helicopter, being the only man in the room; the next the darkness itself seemed to move. It coagulated just above the helicopter’s roof and leaped at Bucky.

He was pushed few feet backward, barely regaining balance as the man clad in black costume jumped at him. Bucky’s metal arm raised almost on its own after lifetimes of training and the creature’s claws scraped at it. The grind that sounded made his hackles raise and a thought crossed his mind if he will find there claw marks later.

Then he didn’t have time to think because there was only fight, him and the opponent and the mechanical, well-learnt combat moves. The man in the cat costume moved so fast Bucky almost doubted it was a man at all. He was not only a match for serum enhanced soldier speed, but Bucky had to make a conscious effort to block his lightning-fast strokes in time.

The man moved swiftly, agile like a cat, his motions wore the same unbelievable pliancy like the ones of a true feline beast. Like the bones and number of joints weren’t any restriction for him. It was making him unpredictable, Bucky didn’t know this style of fighting.

The duel led them past the doors, where the staircase was. They still fought quietly; lethal blows exchanged in deadly silence, almost too fast for ordinary sight to catch it.

Bucky knew he was stronger but the other’s armor was flawless, created from some impenetrable material. If he could only find a way to detach it from his opponent’s body… some secret press that opened the whole thing like Iron Man’s suits but he didn’t have time to seek for any weaknesses in the black costume, too focused on dealing with the coming blasts.

The man was quicker, fought with his hands and legs alike, while Bucky mostly relied on his arms. Avoiding clawed palm thrown his way, Bucky jumped out of the reach, his back hitting the rusty metal barrier that secured the narrow stairs.

Because of the obstacle, he didn’t lean away quick enough from another strike and the pain of claws ripping flesh blossomed on his chest. It cut through the skin as easily as it did through layers of clothes. A sudden inflow of weird numbness along with the harsh kick across his chest had him rolling over the barrier and falling down several stories.

Things became foggy after that. He thought he saw Rumlow. Or maybe that was the panther looming over him. He felt dampness on his chest and knew it was his blood not visible only because it was dark and his shirt was red. Someone dragged him up. Someone shouted. He was  hauled through the floor, a trace of blood left behind, hearing curses and Russian accent. It was like Siberia all over again. Only the snow was lacking.

The roar of engine was distant, propellers whirled above faster and faster. The floor bent as someone jumped on the skid. Rumlow cursed, the series of shots sounded, then they finally flew.

He might have fell asleep. Or fainted. He didn’t know. He knew only something wasn’t right. He healed faster, he shouldn’t black out from the loss of blood. Not from a single scratch.

Then Rumlow’s face, twisted in anger was above him and the man seemed displeased with him and that too, reminded him of something. He was almost sure he was in that situation before. He didn’t like the other man’s hands tearing apart his shirt, didn’t like being touched by him but he couldn’t resist him, couldn’t raise a hand because both were numb.

Rumlow left him for a while, rummaged through cabinets around the surroundings were chilly familiar despite the fact only one bright lamp on the ceiling worked.

The needle was injected in his flesh arm as he was unable to stop it and then darkness overwhelmed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you see what is coming already? Do you see where these suspicious references of half memories are taking us? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings, take a look at the new tags before reading this one

Rumlow’s hands were covered in blood, Asset’s blood, the chest of a super soldier raised and fell steadily under his palms. It was a good sign, the Asset will probably be fully functional in a short time but it was still a hindrance to his current work. In the old good times it was Hydra’s tech team who dealt with stuff like that.

At least the metal arm was undamaged and the rest of the Winter Soldier was human, stronger, more enduring than a normal one, but still human. And as a fighter himself, Brock knew the basics of medical treatment.

The breast under his touch moved a bit different, the rhythm of exhales faltered and Brock realized the man was waking up.

“What are you…” rasped his patient as the blue eyes blinked blearily, trying to focus on him.

“Patching you up. Who knows what that savage had in his claws. Poison or whatever. Good thing you're super healing but it put even you out so now I'm repairing you.”

That didn’t calm Winter, as he shifted even more, ruining Brock’s efforts to put him into an integral shape.

“Lay down,” he snapped, looking around for more of the sedative.

The Asset relented somewhat at the sharply spoken order. His next words were even recent action related.

“So he’s defeated?”

“I don’t call the enemy defeated until he's dead. And that one was breathing quite fine as we left him.”

Winter looked as if he was fighting hard with the unconsciousness, his expression was weary, he tried to shook his head as if to clear it.

“What did you give me?”

“Some of Hydra’s stuff,” shrugged Brock, “with an unspellable name on a badge. You were supposed to be asleep a bit longer.”

“So we’re at…”

“Hydra’s building, yeah.”

“Then I must-“

The Asset made a move as if he wanted to raise but Brock grabbed the syringe with the remnants of the tranquilizer and injected him again.

“This one doesn’t have the answers you seek,” he told Winter, feeling him going slack under his hands gradually. “Now go back to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

 

The light above him swayed back and forth, casting everything around into a strange illumination. No, it was him who swayed, he realized. He couldn’t get up though it were no metal straps that kept him pinned down to the table, but the hands of a man. It was not a physical inability so much that kept him in place, rather a mental one, based on gratification and punishment system; following the order was the best way, the only possible way to avoid unpleasant consequences later if he disobeyed.

So he laid down quietly and let the man do whatever he chose to him. Which was now fucking him into the medical table. The rhythmical pounding into him was not even that painful as it was rather repulsive in how impersonal it felt. He was just an object for the use of his handlers. But an object should not feel as uncomfortable, should it?

The light over man's shoulder was blinding and it was difficult to see his face. No, something was wrong, the face was blurred as if in old TV footage though the guy was just above him. What did it matter anyway, one handler or the other, they came and went. He won't even remember it shortly, he needed just to endure until they take away his memories once again.

An unexpected feeling of resistance awakened in him at that thought. His body was their weapon but his mind should be his own, his memories were just his, no one from the outside should be able to touch it, no one should be able use it. He struggled under the heavy weight of the man.

The man chuckled. That was a disquietingly familiar sound.

“Now you start fighting? It's a little too late for that,” the voice that rasped it to his ear amongst the hoarse grunts was familiar as well.

Bucky blinked transferring his gaze from the white pristine ceiling to the face of the man that pinned him down. He gasped as he saw that knowing smirk, dark eyes, square jaw and an overall handsome face, as it was before the burns. Rumlow seemed amused by his reactions.

Bucky tried to raise once more but metal straps locked around his forearms kept him in place. Rumlow chuckled darkly before resuming his movements and now Bucky whimpered slightly trying to stifle it ineffectively. His whines resembled moans far more than he'd like and there was no pain but the feeling of unwanted pleasure, another bodily reaction torn from him despite his will that he had no control over. He’d prefer pain. He renewed his struggling as well, desperate to get free-

And that was when he woke up covered in sweat, panting hard, his heart thumping maddeningly like a series shot from a rifle until he made a conscious effort to slow it down. The table he was on was alike the one in a dream but nothing restricted him and he sat up, as he leapt up from his nightmare, slowly processing it was only a dream. Or a memory, he thought with a sick feeling in the stomach. And, almost immediately after, if not a memory, a fantasy like that would be even worse.

“Got a dream about your Stevie?”

He turned his head at where Rumlow’s derisive voice came from, only to see the ex-Hydra agent nearing in on him.

“Let’s see how you’ve healed up.”

The hands that settled upon his chest felt exactly like the sensation from his nightmare and Bucky jumped out of his reach as if burned.

“Don’t touch me!”

Rumlow seemed taken aback by his action but he hid the bewildered expression in a split second.

“God, I’ve really preferred you as Winter,” he muttered, then went back to giving orders. “If you can move like that, then I think you’re fine enough to keep going. I’ve got an idea where to start. That is, if your friends didn’t blown up that base yet. Put on some shirt and come on to the helicopter.”

Bucky half listened to him, half floundered in his own racing thoughts, watching the man closely. Did he do this to him? Did he use him like that too, not only in the field? He couldn't remember, all he got was Rumlow’s behavior now and there was not one time Rumlow tried to touch him in this way. But then maybe earlier it was different when he was more of an Asset?

These thoughts settled an uncomfortable nagging inside his chest. Hanging out with his abuser was bad enough but what if it wasn't a real memory? What then, if he had an erotic dream about the other man, what did it mean? He didn't want to consider it, to think about it. But he did anyway. Without reaching any sensible explanation.


	4. Chapter 4

The base they were in must have been hidden well for it was not ruined by Avengers’ roundup yet. Besides the military shirts – with HYDRA logo on them, unfortunately – Bucky found the stock of MREs. Starving because of serum enhanced metabolism and weakened by the recent injury, he’d ate some immediately, not even bothering to heat it up.

A thought of Rumlow crossed his mind but eyeing the other man he found him sorting through weaponry. The ex-hydra agent seemed preoccupied with the task, trying out some gauntlet, and Bucky had the unclear feeling MREs weren’t his favorite food, so he just stuffed the rest to the backpack.

Finally they moved out, up the secret underground levels, up the deceptively plain looking building visible from the outside, to the flat roof where the helicopter was docked.

“Couldn’t find more conspicuous place to land?” muttered Bucky under his breath, still not really used to mouth off to others.

Rumlow caught his words anyway. “Do you see any other apt surface in the middle of a fucking forest?”

They hardly made a few steps toward the flying machine, when from behind a large chimney the man emerged. The man with the shield, with the too characteristic star on the chest.

“I didn’t know you were so stupid as to hide in here,” said Captain America.

Then his eyes slid past the Rumlow’s shoulder to his friend: pale, yet determined, wearing hydra’s outfit. Confusion and worry reflected on Steve’s face and Rumlow used the second’s hesitation to shot at him with his newly acquired rifle. Steve covered behind his shield.

As if summoned by the shooting sounds, Falcon flied up from beneath the wall. Seeing as Steve goes for Rumlow already and not really wanting to fight with him, Bucky advanced on the winged man. He reached with his metal arm for the feathered appendage but his opponent foiled them down too quickly to grasp any.

“Not a chance this time. I learn from mistakes,” said Falcon when their faces were close.

Bucky frowned but did not let the idle talk distract him. He punched the man with his flesh arm, the other blocked the blow but not fully. Bucky was stronger because of the serum and though his opponent seemed a skilled fighter, he did not stood a chance with the super soldier trained for seventy years into a lethal weapon.

Odds changed considerably as someone leaped at Bucky from the side, forcing him to the ground momentarily before he quickly stood up, throwing off the new adversary. For a split second he had thought it was Steve and felt the slight sting of betrayal for attacking him this way but then the familiar black costume entered his field of vision.

“What do you have to me?!” he shouted, catching the clawed hand descending on his face.

There was a pause in which he thought he’d be ignored but then the male voice answered him from behind the feline mask.

“You killed my father. I will avenge him.”

“I did not-”

The next furious attack interrupted him and for a good while Bucky thought about nothing more than how to par the next hits, blows and scratches.

When the victory wasn’t closer to any of them, the man conceded slightly and Bucky took a brief glance at the rest of the company. Rumlow was engaged in a fight with both Steve and his winged friend and Bucky would be impressed the man was still alive and afoot if he wasn’t too concerned with his own fight.

“Maybe not directly,” said his nemesis, “but planting the bomb counts just the same.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Then surrender.”

“No.”

The fight renewed once more. Bucky backed off, simulating retreat, to get closer to Rumlow. The man breathed hard but otherwise did the marvelous job of dodging two opponents at the same time. Bucky placed himself so that he got his back. Now he could take some of the attacks coming for him. The stance felt disquietingly familiar, as if practiced, as if he’d done that before.

He managed to grab Steve’s shield before the captain hit Rumlow with the edge of it. They struggled over it and when their eyes met above, Steve’s bore that heartbroken expression. Unable to hold his gaze, Bucky kicked him in the knee and wrenched the shield free as Steve gasped in pain. He threw the disc in the Falcon’s direction but the blow from the Panther perturbed his aiming.

Shield missed the flying man and Steve run after it before it could turn a circle and come back to the one who threw it.

Nearest space was momentarily cleared from competitive fighters and the man clad in a black costume attacked Bucky with renewed vigor. Bucky wondered briefly of how he got there after them as he arrived later than the other two and didn’t seem to be cooperating with Steve.

“He didn't know the locations of Hydra bases and Steve wouldn't give him that!” He shouted over his shoulder at Rumlow.

“The fuck you talking about?!”

“Haven't you noticed tracing device?! He must have put one on the helicopter!”

“Sorry I was too preoccupied in saving you from bleeding to death to care for that!”

Then Falcon managed to fly between them and separate them and engage Rumlow in one to one fight. Bucky tried to get closer to his partner once more but the Panther-like man prevented that move.

The catlike movements, the man’s agility were almost superhuman. Bucky was retreating again, this time for real, until they got at the edge of the roof. They grappled at the verge of the abyss, balancing at the concrete brink.

Bucky wondered briefly where Steve had disappeared and as if on cue, a powerful explosion shook the building as the helicopter was blown up. Heat and smoke reached them, debris fell from the sky. Parts of metal scattering in all directions ceased the fights momentarily as everyone tried to shield from it.

That was when Bucky saw his chance.

He moved almost on automation, it was more the programming of the Soldier than his will, that used the brief loss of balance from his opponent as a leverage to throw him down the roof.

Before he had a time to acknowledge what he did, how he send a man to his death despite swearing to himself _never more_ , a winged silhouette flied past him and surged down the building wall. Heart beating fast, Bucky observed how Falcon managed to grab the falling man almost just before the other hit the ground. The two begun to raise, slower as wings were designed to carry the weight of one man.

Relief coiled in Bucky’s stomach but suddenly Rumlow appeared next to him and threw something in Falcon’s direction. The little device plastered to one of the wings, short-circuit lightened the metal surface with electric shocks, then the wing was still, useless weigh, dragging both men down.

“The fuck you doing?! You’ll kill them!”

Bucky watched in horror as Falcon, flapping with one wing to no effect, hit the ground along with his passenger rather hard. Dust raised few stores below where they met the earth. Rumlow, standing at his side, observed the scene with the air of mild satisfaction.

He shrugged at Bucky’s accusation. “They wanted to kill me first.”

“Not only them,” said Steve from behind and lunged at Rumlow before Bucky had a time to react.

 

* * *

 

 

No doubt the almost certain death of his friends lend Captain even more of his even usually high-levels righteous-fury. The fight was over almost quicker than during his capture by Avengers, even the shocker gauntlets recovered from the HYDRA base weren’t of much help.

The Asset was less of a help yet, standing to the side, undecided which side to choose. He always malfunctioned when Rogers was interfering with the mission, even in times when he was still wiped regularly and fully under HYDRA’s control.

“Well, noble Cap about to kill me when no one looks, public image untouched,” said Brock, spitting a phlegm with blood. He was nearly amused at the bitchiness of fate: escaping thanks to Winter, only to die now because the man hadn’t got the balls to hurt his precious Steve.

“No, not kill, I will arrest you,” said Cap surprisingly calmly for all that rage he had fought with. “There are still some things you ought to tell us.”

Unexpectedly Winter stepped closer. “Steve, I’m going to need him.”

Captain looked over at him, their gazes locked and held for a moment in which the world around seem lost to them both. Brock, kneeling at Captain’s gunpoint, rolled his eyes. This was worse than watching Winter going all weepy for ‘that man on the bridge’ after that failed mission years ago.

Finally Cap broke out of that lovesick staring. “Whatever he promised you,” he said, “he could do so as our prisoner.”

Hesitation crossed Winter’s usually blank face. “I won’t be able to talk to him.”

“I will. And I guarantee you, I’ll get whatever information you need from him, along with the knowledge of where his friends went with the biological weapon from Lagos.”

Brock couldn’t have that. He doubted they’d make him talk but who knew whatever new technology Stark came up with. If HYDRA could wipe minds, maybe the Avengers learned how to read them by now. Besides, there was a simpler and quicker way to keep HYDRA’s ideals intact.

“All that sweet-talk is really touching, Cap, but let me tell you, he’s not worth it. He’s just HYDRA’s toy. I had him right there on the floor,” Brock deliberately made his voice lower and prolonged, “row of agents waited for their run and you know what's the most funny about it? He did not even once try to break free, never once try to protect himself, fight us off with that metal arm of his. Guess Russians trained him well.”

According to plan, Cap’s face went pale, anger fought with distrust in his expression and his gaze took on a hard edge.

“What? Don't believe me? Ask him,” he jerked his chin at the Asset who stood with his Winter Soldier closed off expression in the background, emanating his typical kicked-puppy aura. Brock smirked at Cap, “or watch one of the tapes.”

The blow came with super-soldier’s speed, Brock barely had a time to register the fist flying his way before it connected with his jaw. And then, almost immediately, repeated the action. Pain that blossomed harder after each punch felt almost like a gratification for the done job. Blood flooded his mouth, copper taste assaulted his tongue. He spat it, took a breath, the Cap bit him still; the dark spots started to dim his vision.

Then suddenly it stopped. It couldn’t be over that soon. He cracked one eye open and saw Winter standing before him, a solid barrier of muscles and metal shielding him from Rogers. The Asset held Cap’s gun and the _pals_ were arguing.

“…protect _him_?” Cap spat the pronoun as if it tasted badly to only mention Rumlow, even without calling him by name. He looked ready to cry, heartbroken.

“I need him,” Brock could heard Winter was fighting to stay calm as well and he was doing a lot better job of pretending than Cap. “Trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s him."

“I’ve got this under control.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like it to me. It looks like you were…” there was an awkward pause in which Brock’s words seemed to reverberate again and Winter’s HYDRA shirt turned somehow more eye-catching, “…the Winter Soldier,” Rogers finished.

When Winter spoke, he sounded cold and genuinely hurt to Brock’s ear. If only Rogers knew how to use his power over the Asset, he’d be the best handler ever.

“You should go check on your friends, I think I saw them moving earlier.”

Cap made a move as if to go but hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you in his hands.”

“I’ll handle it, Steve. You’re not the only super soldier that can beat the crap out of him.” Winter played at being Bucky now.

Brock had more than enough of all their talking about him as if he wasn’t right there. “Any more of your lovey-dovey and we’re gonna deal with the local cops. Someone saw the explosion for sure.”

He got to his knees, then unsteadily up. Winter’s metal hand reached out to support him. Cap looked at it with aversion.

“Go for Falcon,” Winter urged him. “I’m doing this for a reason. When this is over, I’ll come back to you.”

Rogers finally listened, murmuring ‘take care’ as he turned to walk away. He made his signature who-needs-parachutes jump over the edge where the two others had fell.                                                                        

 


End file.
